


Though this be madness

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [15]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Death, Drowning, Fae & Fairies, Fae manipulation, M/M, Multi, Urban Magic Yogs, sex in a shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The baseline of the music shakes the bones of the house with every deafening thud. Smith dances in the neon lights with the heat of the crowd pressed around him. Sweat drips down the back of his neck. He's been flirting with the DJ for over five songs, undressing him with his eyes and letting his charm surround him like smoke.<br/>“I’ve got half an hour for break. Do you want to...”<br/>“Definitely.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though this be madness

**Author's Note:**

> "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." Hamlet, Act 2, scene 2
> 
> http://yogcities.tumblr.com/post/113143060348
> 
> CW: Drowning, murdering, getting off on murdering someone via drowning, death, and sex  
> allusions to religion, and blasphemy of holiness  
> If there’s anything else I need to mention, let me know.
> 
> want to reblog? https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2015/10/19/though-this-be-madness-ghostofgatsby/
> 
> In boundless as the sea, it was mentioned that Smith drowned a DJ a house party. (This is set before that.) I’ve been trying to finish the next piece, a chaptered fic set chronologically after boundless. But my brain decided “Hey why not write that DJ drowning scene” because this was originally at the beginning before I cut it out.  
> As a result of my laziness, it’s a bit rough, not as polished as I’d like. But I wrote it to bridge the gap between this...boundless as the sea...and the next one. Because it’s going to be a doozy.  
> Did you know you can subscribe to a series? Pretty cool... *nudge, wink* :)

The baseline of the music shakes the bones of the house with every deafening thud. Smith dances in the neon lights with the heat of the crowd pressed around him. Sweat drips down the back of his neck. He's been flirting with the DJ for over five songs, undressing him with his eyes and letting his charm surround him like smoke.

The DJ is staring right back, grinning and watching Smith grind on other people. ”Seven songs.” They had mouthed to Smith, and Smith had nodded and gave them a thumbs up.

On song number seven, the DJ takes a break, leaving their headphones behind in the corner they set up shop in and meeting Smith by the kitchen-island-turned-bar.

“Hi!” They greet cheerfully.

“Hey.” Smith smirks and holds out a hand. “I’m Smith.”

“Finn.” The DJ’s hand stays in his for longer than necessary. “I’ve got half an hour for break. Do you want to...”

“Definitely.”

Finn leads him through the house, upstairs. Most rooms sound occupied, so Finn pulls Smith into a bathroom. There’s a floor-to-ceiling glass-enclosed shower in the corner, and the kelpie grins.

_Perfect._

Finn’s hands grab at his hips as they kiss and grind up against one another. Smith undoes his own jeans and hears Finn make a huff of amusement at his lack of underwear. He palms the DJ through his shorts and herds him backwards into the shower, removing shoes as they go. Finn’s moans echo on the tiles while Smith sucks livid bruises into his throat.

“Fuck, yes...” He mumbles.

Finn’s hands scrabble at Smith’s back, still t-shirt clad.

Smith fucks the DJ against the tiled wall. Their fingers dig into his shoulders as the water starts to rise around them. It pools at Smith’s feet, runs down his legs. Finn doesn’t even notice, with eyes half-lidded and head tipped back. He gasps and the water rises quicker, not impeding the movement of Smith’s hips but spurring them to move faster.

Finn’s heels dig into the small of Smith’s back, and his knees are pulled to his chest. Smith’s fingernails make half-moon marks in the flesh of their thighs. The DJ moans. The sound is distorted in the water, which is up to the ceiling. Smith’s growl in response sounds more like a throaty nicker.

_Fuck, yes, yes, yes!_

Smith’s climax rushes over him suddenly, spreading heat across his skin like warmth from a hearth. His thrusts still. The DJ shudders and writhes. Limbs fall lifeless as eyes lose their light. Smith pulls back and lets the body slide to the floor.

He pulses with the adrenaline fizzing through his veins. He closes his eyes and moans, letting the feel of the water surrounding him settle him down into the afterglow of sex.

It’s a homely feeling. He feels the weight of years of this magic in the water, tastes it and a clean river when he breathes in. If only the river wasn’t polluted. The people could have kept it clean, if they had tried hard enough. But humans don’t learn from their mistakes until it’s far too late to fix them.

Smith chuckles and opens his eyes again. The water is starting to drain, albeit slowly. Once Smith’s head and neck are above the surface, the water moves quicker. He grapples behind him to turn on the shower and wash down the remnants of sex and death.

The body is slumped on the tiled floor. Its unseeing eyes stare out the fogged-up glass. Smith lets the river water drain completely before he helps himself to the house owner’s shampoo. The high he gets from murder-fucking sticks to him longer than usual. He still feels floaty and content, even after cleaning up.

When Smith’s done, he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. The t-shirt he’d been wearing is stuck like a second skin. He peels it off and wrings it out, water splattering half onto the plush rug on the bathroom floor. His jeans are where he left them, and his keys jingle in the pocket when he picks them up. He slings his wet t-shirt over his shoulder and redresses.

As Smith stands upright again, he shoves his t-shirt in his back pocket. He grins at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His pupils are dilated yet from the endorphins, black pushing mossy green to the edges of the iris. He passes fingers through his wet locks and gives his reflection a sultry wink.

Keys in hand, he leaves the party. No one pays him any attention. The crowd continues to dance unbeknownst to what has occurred in the bathroom upstairs.

The night air draws goosebumps on his skin, but the chill is welcome. Smith rolls down the windows in his car and lets the air dry his hair as he drives home.  
  


* * *

  
"I'm home!" Smith greets the apartment, slamming the door shut as per tradition and kicking off his shoes. The rubber soles thud as they hit the back of the couch. He hears a shushing noise from the kitchen, and saunters over. Trott is at the counter, reading something while stirring his tea.

"Quiet down, Sips and Ross are asleep." Trott chastises. He taps his spoon on the rim of the mug twice and sets it onto the counter with a delicate clink.

“I can be quiet.” Smith murmurs, licking his lips and pressing closer until he stands right behind Trott. He traces Trott's lower back through the fabric of his t-shirt and feels the selkie still under his touch. "Going to bed soon?" He asks, brushing his lips on the back of Trott's neck.

"When I'm done with my tea." Trott worms out of Smith's hands and takes his book and his mug to the table.

"Whatcha reading?" Smith asks, leaning back against the counter and hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

Trott brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip. He holds up the book as he takes a seat, showing the cover. There’s a picture of two people in fetish gear with the title _Sex, Magic, and You: Finding The Charm in a BDSM Lifestyle_ in plain white lettering.

Smith snorts. "All these years and you haven't found it yet?"

Trott rolls his eyes and scoots his chair closer to the table. "A witch on the South side owns a kink boutique. I thought I'd read up on her book before talking business."

Smith hums. Business never interests him, unless Trott was bringing something new home to demo, or some customer was being ridiculous.

Trott’s eyes scan over Smith’s bare chest, search and find the shirt he wore tonight tucked in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" He asks, with no humor in his tone.

Smith grins cheekily and waggles his eyebrows. "I did. Want to share in my enjoyment?"

"No."

The kelpie chuckles. "Suit yourself, then." He stands up straighter and leans away from the counter, stretching. "I'm going to get to bed."

Trott hums, eyes on his book instead of Smith. "You do that, then. Goodnight, sunshine."

Smith smiles wistfully. "Night, Trott." He pauses in the doorway to the living room. "Don't stay up too late, yeah?"

Trott chuckles and looks up at Smith before he takes another drink of his tea. "Says you?"

Smith rolls his eyes. "Sleep's important, you fucking nerd."

Trott smirks back. "Alright, I'll humor you."

They share a smile. Trott returns to his book and Smith makes his way to the bedroom.  
  


* * *

  
Sips and Ross are in bed, the former snoring quietly. Ross is awake. His blue eyes watch Smith in the dark as he shuts the door with a soft click.

"Thought you were sleeping." Smith whispers, running a hand through his wind-tossed and messy hair.

Ross smiles. "I heard you get home."

"Sorry." Smith apologizes sheepishly. He steps over the discarded clothes on the floor and towards the bathroom. "Want to join me?" He asks sultrily, resting a hand on the doorframe.

Ross smirks. "Sure." He kisses Sips' shoulder and tucks the blankets around the mortal as he gets out of bed.

Smith's eyes rake down Ross' naked body. They go into the bathroom and Smith shuts the door.

"Don't you have to shower?" Ross asks, as Smith's hands take up residence on his shoulders.

"Nah, mate, took care of that already." He grins and moves in to kiss him.

Ross kisses back, twines one of his hands around Smith's waist and another up and through his hair. The kelpie lets out a breathy sigh when Ross' kisses leave his lips to follow his jawline. Ross nuzzles his cheek against Smith's stubble and chuckles.

Smith's hands stroke down Ross' chest, caressing the smooth expanse of his marble skin. The gargoyle always fascinates Smith. It’s why he stole him, after all. If he was honest, the glimpse of those vivid blue eyes was what spurred him. Not to mention the other blue-glass parts of his body...

Smith smirks and moves his hands downward to stroke the lines of Ross’ hips. His skin was so unlike human skin, hairless and completely smooth, but it wasn’t quite marble either. It had the texture of marble but there were calluses on Ross’ hands and feet from climbing buildings.

Those hands send shivers down Smith’s spine as Ross pulls him closer by the back of his thighs. Ross’ hands stroke up and into the pockets, kneading Smith’s ass. The feeling draws a moan from his lips.

The kelpie finds Ross’ mouth again and kisses him hard. For the second time that night, he unbuttons his pants and pushes them to his ankles.

Ross strokes his hands down the back of Smith’s thighs. The rough calluses on the edges of his palms, just under the roots of his fingers, graze against the hair on Smith’s bare skin.

Smith’s hand wraps around both of their arousals and Ross lets out a low hum of his name. The gargoyle ducks his head and kisses along Smith’s collarbone and the divot between shoulder and neck.

“Ross...” Smith whispers, moving his hand loosely up and down.

Ross lets out a shaky breath and muffles a moan in the crook of Smith’s neck. Smith wants to hear the sound again, but Sips is in the next room. They wouldn’t want to wake him.

Ross is temptation, for Smith. Smith wants him to know where he'd been and what he'd done. He could probably taste the river water on his lips. It turns him on, makes him dizzy with barely hidden excitement. He is the monster in the shadows corrupting a saintly guardian. But Ross is far from a saint, hasn’t been close to one since Smith bound them together with magic. As he joined Smith and Trott’s little excuse of a court, he became the protector of the night, and those who called it home. He is no saint, but there is holiness still, and that makes Smith feel blasphemous.

Ross praises Smith in little breaths, hushed in his ear. Smith tumbles them over the edge swiftly. He slumps into Ross’ arms and the gargoyle nuzzles his face into his hair.

There’s a tiny knock on the door.

They freeze. Neither of them makes a sound.

“For fucks sake.” They hear Trott whisper on the other side of the wall. “Come on, you two. Bedtime.”

Smith grins, kisses Ross until he’s grinning too.

“Shall we?” The kelpie murmurs sleepily against Ross’ lips.  
Ross smiles and pecks a kiss to his nose. “Lets.”


End file.
